


Chance Encounter

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aesthetic Attraction, Asexual Character, Before DA:I, Elf, Elves, Fenris Mentioned, Fereldan, Gay Character, Hate, Hatered, Hurt/Comfort, Mage, Magic, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mistrust, Runaway, Scarred, Scars, Sequel, Slavery, Story, Tevinter Imperium, Tevinter Mage, Tevinters, Trust, companion - Freeform, dislike, ex-slave, fled, inn, runawau, slave - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4978432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story stars Ava, the ex-slave from Freedom Bound.  After escaping Tevinter and a life of slavery Ava is living and working in Fereldan, and coming into her own, learning to enjoy her life.  But a Tevinter mage appears in the Inn where she works, and she's highly suspicious.  This young man with a dashing mustache might be different from other 'Vints she's met.  Can she see past her prejudice and help this stranger?  What news of her home land could he bring to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion to "Freedom Bound" I recommend you read that one before this one. I think you can still enjoy this one without it, but you might be confused.

Chance Encounter

 

“If Hadriana and Danarius are killed?”

“It shall be by my hand.” Fenris snarled with a wicked smile of his own. Ava found she liked the ferocity of it. “And then I will find you. But until that moment Danarius will dog my steps. He will not rest long before he seeks me again. You will be safer without me.”

Fenris's words were still as fresh in Ava's mind as when her friend had spoken them. They'd sought freedom together, though she doubted she would ever see him again. He had vowed to find her once he'd slain their hated ex-master, and she doubted that time would ever come.

~~~~~

“Ava, would you close the shutters? It's gone and started to pour. Ava?”

Ava felt a meaty hand land on her shoulder. She turned and tilted her chin up to look into the plump, stubble peppered face of her boss, Jory. He was wearing his signature grease stained apron and pleasant, if a bit toothless, smile. “What?” Ava asked, shaking her dark hair off of her sweaty face.

“Where is your head at, girl?” the big man asked, still maintaining his smile. “You were lost to the world just then.” Jory leaned over her, which was easy enough to do. He was a tall man, and she an elf. He might have seemed threatening to the untrained eye. She knew him for what he was. A teddy bear. He pressed open the door through which Ava had been peering. It led out to the common room of the Inn Jory owned and ran. The big fireplace was shining with a warm light and the few patrons were chatting in low tones. It took the man a moment to see what had so distracted his employee. “Ah. I see. Now, Ava, you know we see a lot of 'Vints around here. We're right on the coast. It's bound to happen. Why we had one stop in just last week.”

“I know,” Ava sighed. She hugged herself, leaning back slightly into Jory's protective bulk. His arm above her was reassuring, even if his armpit smelled of a dung heap. Her keen, elvish senses made her notice it more, she supposed. Her sharp eyes had spotted the 'Vint right away too. Lavish clothes in styles that seemed eerily familiar. Tan, flawless skin. The superior way the man carried himself. Straight back and sure step. Now he slumped in the largest chair before the fire, mage's staff propped beside him. He'd sunken low into the chair, and Ava wasn't certain he was still awake, but even a sleeping 'Vint was a person she wouldn't...couldn't trust.

“Ava, close the windows, eh?” Jory asked again. “The rain's really coming down now.”

He was right. It had been drizzling all day, muddying the roads and driving the locals to shelter in Jory's small Inn, The Happy Nug. Many had already stumbled home as the night drew deeper. A few more were making mutterings of returning to their houses now that the rain has begun in earnest. Ava looked out again at the hushed common room. The rain was pattering in through the two windows near the door and leaving damp splotches on the already messy floorboards. She heaved a sigh and stepped gingerly out into the room, leaving the protection, and odor, of Jory's arm.

“Good evening, Miss Ava,” one of the men at the bar greeted her. A gentle fisherman with little hair to his name, but kind eyes. He too was an elf, but he was Fereldan. He had no reason to notice, or fear, the potential Magister in their midst

Ava felt the sudden urge to warn him about the stranger, but instead she gave her fellow elf a quick smile and dipped her head (an old habit from her slave days) not quite meeting his eyes. “Good evening, Gareth.”

Her eyes snapped towards the man by the fire. Had his shoulders stiffened slightly at her voice? An irrational panic filled her heart, but she fought it down. It had been three years since her escape. Her old masters were not coming for her. They likely did not care that she was gone.

“How's your day going, Ava?”

She jumped. Maker! Gareth was still talking to her. Her mind had wandered away to memories. A kitchen full of friends, and a room with an enemy. The cold fear of every moment. Never knowing when the blow would land. She cut a glance towards the mage by the fire. The staff, a cruel weapon, but he didn't need the staff to hurt her. She shuddered, letting the rain from the window splash her face before she closed the shutters and latched them with the little, metal clasp. “It's been alright,” was her simple answer for her friend. He didn't seemed confused by her shortness. Ava was a woman of few words.

“Good to be almost done for the night?”

Dammit. Why was Gareth in the mood for conversation? All Ava wanted to do was get the second shutter closed and retreat back to the small, flagrant kitchen. But she knew Jory was at the bar, and watching her. He was always encouraging her to be more friendly with the patrons. Jory was good to her. She wanted to help him keep his business. She closed the shutter and skirted around the room, keeping well back from the stranger by the fire, to come and stand at the bar beside her fellow elf. She tried to lean casually, a motion which did not come naturally to her. “Indeed,” she answered, thought it took her so long she suspected Gareth might have forgotten his question. Now she was supposed to ask him something. That's how this was supposed to work. The way people talked. “Are you going out tomorrow? Fishing?”

“I might,” the man smiled, dimpling his cheeks and wrinkling the corners of his kind eyes. “If the rain lets up a little.”

Ava nodded, deciding her duty to this conversation was properly discharged. She dipped her head again, her angular shoulders rounded an submissive. Then she fled, back to the safe kitchen. Back to stirring the stew and sitting in the quiet company of Padfoot, the ancient Mabari who acted as general security for the place. Or at least he had in his youth. Now he mostly sat beside the fire and rested his head on Ava's boney knees when she needed company. Fereldans and their dogs, Ava would think with a smile. Fereldans like her.

“Ava,” Jory was calling from the bar. She sighed, looking longingly at her little stool beside the big pot of stew over the cook-fire.

She went to the door behind the bar and stuck her head out, addressing Jory's massive back. “Yes?”

“The fellow by the fire could use a refill. Would you fetch it out to him?”

Ava bit down on her lip, “I...” She let her protestation drop. He knew she hated serving 'Vints, and he wanted her to get over this fear. She was thankful to her her employer. He'd taken her in, given her a job, a small room in the back, and a place to call home. But she hated him for this. Still, she did as she was bidden. What good was it to protest when the man the size of a horse gave you an order? “What's his drink?” she asked.

“West Hill Swill,” Jory shot back over his shoulder. He was also seemingly carrying on three conversations at once. Ava was often jealous of this ability.

“Right,” she answered so he knew she'd heard. She moved around his bulk to fetch the drink. 'West Hill Swill' was their affectionate name for an uninteresting local brandy. She fetched a clean cup and filled it with the amber liquid. The color of the stranger's skin, she thought abstractly; and her own.

She want back through the kitchen, carrying the cup with perfected ease. She never spilled a drop of liquor. Ever. She could trip and nearly fall, and still keep the drink steady. She'd been well trained.

She drew neared the man. His back was to her, face towards the flames. His shoulders were rounded with seeming weariness. She hesitated, moving tentatively around him, hoping perhaps he was asleep. His profile was elegant. Aquiline and deeply handsome, for a human. A well trimmed and oiled black mustache graced his full, well formed upper lip. There was a youth to his features. An odd innocence that made Ava even more uneasy. His eyes were open and they flicked up to look at her. Golden brown as a burnished coin. Ava flinched and looked down at once. “Oh. Thank you.” the man said, reaching for the drink she offered. His voice was cultured and bore an accent she knew too well. She drew back as soon as he had taken the cup. This man was a viper. A black and coiled being that might seem harmless, until he would bite, and he would certainly bite.

The man gave a little shudder, raising the drink to his lips and sipping appreciatively. “Do you know how far it is to Redcliff from here?”

Ava stopped. She's been backing away, retreating again. She inhaled and stepped towards the man once more, clasping her hands before her. “You've still got a few week's travel south. You can follow the river to Lake Calenhad,” she muttered. “That's the easiest.”

The man turned slightly to face her, his eyes seeking hers in a way that made her all the more alarmed. “Really? Fasta vas.” His lip curled in annoyance.

“You're still very near the coast,” Ava offered, uncertain why she volunteered this information. Perhaps it was because, as she took in this man, she noticed that his fine clothes were tattered and muddy. His boots were caked with clay. He had clearly been using his mage's staff as a walking cane. The fine, deep-black staff was muddied almost half way up the haft. He did look younger, now that she studied his face a bit. There were no harsh frown lines etched into his skin. Not yet.

“I see,” the man sighed, his shoulders slumping lower. “I suppose I had better stay the night here, then, and head out in the morning.” he fished into a belt pouch. Ava flinched involuntarily and he noticed, cocking an elegant eyebrow, “I'm only getting a coin,” he explained, a slight twitch of amusement on his lips.

Ava glowered. Of course he was. What else would he be reaching for? She accepted the money wordlessly. “Upstairs then?” he asked, gesturing with his chin towards the landing above them.

“Aye,” Ava nodded, using a Fereldan affirmative, though she knew she'd already given herself away as the ex-slave she was. “You've the choice of the two rooms, though they're identical.”

“Well, perhaps I'll switch in the middle of the night. Just to keep things interesting.” he smiled wanly. When Ava continued to glower the man heaved a sigh, reaching for his staff. Ava drew back, but noticed Jory watching her. If this mage tried anything he would have to deal with the worlds biggest and angriest innkeeper. He's be squashed into a flat-cake before he could cast a spell. “Oooof,” the man let out a little pain sound, standing stiffly. His elegant grace was gone. Ava almost grimaced. She knew what must have happened. He was unused to traveling, and clearly he'd been on foot. He'd allowed his untrained muscles to stiffen as he sat.

Gripping his staff for balance the mage made his way towards the stairs, limping, but not complaining. That was a first, Ava thought. A Tevinter who didn't whine like a spoiled child. She watched his rounded back for a moment, then heaved another sigh. So damn soft-hearted. She caught up with him easily, offering a slender arm. He looked up at her with surprised eyes, “ah. Thank you. Doubt I would have made it up the stairs. Pathetic eh?”

This was the first time she'd touched a Tevinter since her last day as a slave. She half expected his skin to burn her. Instead his hands were warm, large and almost pleasant as they gripped hers. He trusted her with his weight and she struggled to shake memories of guiding her drunken mistress to bed after a night of 'celebration'. She forced those cold cobwebs from her mind in a hurry.

Once she had led the man to the left-hand room she moved inside and began setting the fire before he asked. It was clear to her that he wouldn't be starting his own, but then something warm sailed past her shoulder and she jumped back. Magical fire burst to life on the logs she had just set out. She almost squeaked, her hands flying up to her face, slim fingers over her lips.

The stranger must have seen how wide and frightened her eyes became. “It's only a spell,” he said, as if this were not obvious.

“Yes,” Ava hissed, sitting on the floor, shaking. The last time a spell has come so close to her it had been aimed at her. Aimed to wound. She heard the man moving around behind her, then the creak as he sat down heavily on the bed.

“You were a slave, weren't you?”

Ava turned to the man. With the fire the only light in the room his face looked even more open, more youthful. He had set aside his staff, though it was still within reach. She fought the urge to flee. He was still in obvious pain as he moved worn muscles gingerly. “I...” this was all she managed before falling silent again and looking down. Always looking down.

“You're scarred,” the man said, as though she had asked him how he knew what she was. He gestured towards her face. Ava bore a scar from her ear to the corner of her lip. Her mistress had given it to her for daring to meet the woman's eyes. Ava had always had trouble with that rule. “Why did you come to Fereldan?”

Ava's head shot up, completely abandoning her earlier self admonishment. Her dark eyes met his copper colored ones. Open and clueless, his eyes. Her lip curled cruelly. “Because I wanted to be free. I take it you kept slaves?”

“My family did,” the man said, still not quite catching on to the wrath with which she was glaring. “I was practically raised by a slave woman. My mother...” his voice caught, “was very busy.”

How nice for you to have a mother, Ava thought bitterly, but didn't say it. It was common for slaves to be separated from their family. She hardly remembered her parents. She watched as the mage leaned down uncomfortably to tug off a boot. “Maker,” she exhaled. She'd already learned to swear like a Fereldan. “Those boots are not meant for traveling.”

“Indeed,” the man agreed. His feet were bloody. Blisters long burst and rubbed raw.

Ava groaned inwardly as the man removed his other boot and placed them neatly beside the bed. He looked balefully at his feet, but made no move to deal with them. Ave wasn't certain why she kept speaking. “You'll get infected. I'll be back,” she said succinctly, finally getting to her feet. She strode from the room and back down into the common room. Several patrons had already departed, warmed with ale and good company, for their homes. Jory was cleaning the bar. He looked up, thick eyebrow raised. Ava gave him a curt nod. It was all the communication that was needed. The big man was used to her quiet nature.

Ava fetched their first aid supplies from a rickety shelf in the kitchen and walked back up the stairs, knowing Jory was watching her the whole time.

The Tevinter man had settled in further, removing his fine shirts and ornate shoulder belts. Ava hesitated at the sight of him. He was something too look at indeed. A lesser woman might have swooned. Smooth muscle accentuated by his skin tone at the light from the fire. He looked up when she entered and gave her a little smile which made her instantly suspicious. The smile of a Tevinter mage was one thing that could always make her claws come out, but she settled herself and moved unwillingly towards him. She hesitated, knowing that to address his bloody feet she would have to kneel before him and she found that she deeply abhorred this notion. She imaged kneeling on shards of glass.

Ava set the little medical bag on the bed and seated herself there as well. She was no longer a slave. She had learned to have dignity. She patted the bed, indicating that he should pull his feet up to her. The man did as he was bidden without question and it was a novelty indeed to tell a 'master' what to do.

Ava began to see to his battered feet. The man made no fuss, barely flinching, even when she pressed a poultice to the worst of the wounds. “You ran away then?” he asked her after a moment.

Ava's shoulders tightened but she did not answer.

The man chuckled tightly. “Don't worry. I'm not here to return you to your masters. I've eh...I've run away as well.”

Ava's eyes flicked up, catching his, asking a silent and incredulous question. The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. “I know. What could a pampered son of a Magister have to run away from? Too much good living? Sick of soft beds and tired of being waited on hand and foot- ouch!” his first flinch. Ava felt a twinge of sympathy for him, just for a moment. His voice was so very gentle. “It was my father. He wanted me to be something I can never be,” he tone had gone bitter. Ava looked up again. Were those tears in his eyes? From the pain, or something else? She tried to be gentler.

“You're not a magister?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“No,” the man spat with disgust. “No I am not.”

“But you did keep slaves?”

“Yes. And they were well treated.”

“But they were still slaves.” Ava's tone was bitter, a foul taste on her scarred lips.

“Of course. Sometimes it's the best thing for elves. They get food, a place to sleep, a life.”

“And you don't think they might have had a life without your meddling? With you owning them?” Ava made no effort to hide her scorn. She drew her hands away from her work on his feet, the rag she held was pinkish with his blood. “Should I thank my mistress for her kindness when she froze my fingertips? When she taught my a lesson about eye contact by giving me this?” she gestured to her scar.

He hesitated. “Well...we didn't treat our slaves like that.”

“Good for you,” she spat back. She'd never in her life spoken to a Tevinter in this way. Perhaps it was because he seemed younger. Maybe it was the way he was listening to her, focusing on her without that cold look in his eyes. Her own eyes darted up again to meet his, then back down.

“I'm sorry.”

Ava's head shot up. “What?”

“I'm sorry. For the way you were treated. I know it wasn't me, or my family, and I know I can't understand, but I'm still sorry. I know it isn't the same, but I ran away from that place too. It isn't where either of us belong.” He voice was taught with emotion and Ava didn't know how to react. So she went back to winding a bandage gently around his right foot. The white somehow made a nice contrast to his caramel skin, so close in tone to her own, though she had not been under the Tevinter sun in years.

“Tomorrow I'll point you towards the cobbler. Tell him I sent you and ask for good traveling boots.” she instructed, as she might have a new slave she was teaching. “These are going to the leather scrap heap,” she gestured to his once-fine footwear. The soft skin was in tatters, the sole worn almost through. To be honest she wasn't certain she could make any use of the things. Perhaps the buckles could be salvaged.

“I will,” the man smiled, all perfect teeth and an openness that made Ava feel bold.

She looked up through the fringe of her hair, “Tell me, did you know a Magister called Danarius?”

The man winced noticeably. “Only by reputation. I think my father met him once. A real psychopath, from what I'm told. Rumor has it he mutilated one of his slaves with a lyrium ritual, and for a while everyone was trying it. So many dead elves...” he trailed off, seeing the look on Ava's face. “Was he your old master?”

“No,” Ava looked down again. This wasn't a lie. She had belonged to Hadriana, apprentice to the cruel and sadistic Danarius. This she kept to herself as she finished with his feet and tidied away the medical bag.

“Thank you,” the man said, with such sincerity it hurt. “I'm afraid I'm rather rubbish at this running away business. I suppose it comes from all those years sitting on cushions and eating peeled grapes.”

Ava felt a smile twitch on her lips, but she said nothing in reply. She stood, resisting the urge to bow. She would never bow to another Tevinter. Still, she liked this man. He was different from anyone she had met from her homeland. She found she hoped he succeeded in his journey and did not end up eaten by wolves or stuck full of bandit arrows. “Good night, sir,” she said, moving towards the door.

“He's dead, from what I hear.” The man said abruptly, his eyes suddenly on her.

“Wh-who, sir?” Ava asked startled.

“Danarius. I heard he was killed recently. In Kirkwall.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place late in DA2 and before DA:I (obviously). It is unclear when when Dorian comes to Fereldan, so I just made it up. If you have a better idea of the timeline, let me know! I've been wanting to do this story for a while. Younger Dorian before he joins the Inquisition, or comes into his own. He needed a little help when he began his travels. He is rather rubbish at running away.
> 
> Wanna win a copy of my original book?! Go right here and check out the contest! It ends 10/14/15! Don't miss out!  
> https://www.facebook.com/Emily-Luebke-Author-283743888311991/timeline/?ref=bookmarks


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